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Maevryn’s POV

I slowly stood up as she went to hit me again.

The strawberry blonde hues of my hair now changed to the color of a crimson, coated with my own blood.

I ducked as she went to throw another punch. I stumbled back and looked at my mom.

She was drunk again and furious that I hadn't cleaned the apartment to her standards.

Fifteen years of beatings and you think I’d know how to do it by now.

I quickly bolted to my room and locked the door behind me. Tears threatened to fall as I walked into my bathroom. The abuse started when I was three. My dad, Lucian, left my mom when she found out she was pregnant with me. Nythera always blamed me for him leaving her. She never had photos of him since she got pregnant with me at 18, and didn't know him well. She told me enough that I look like him. I’m the perfect mix and she hates that I’m a walking reminder of him.

She blamed it on the fact I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t a good child—I was just a brat who made her life hell. And she would have left me too had she had the chance too.

I turned the shower on and turned my phone on full blast playing Twenty One Pilots - Not Today.

Trying to drown out my mothers screams through the closed doors. The cold water from the shower burned as it hit my scalp. The caked on blood slowly went down the drain. This was my life and I was used to it.

No one was going to save a good for nothing girl.

Nobody. Someone her own mother couldn't stand.

The minute I turn sixteen I'm gone and I am never turning back. I took a deep breath to calm the emotions threatening to spill through. Only one more month 'til I am out of here.

I guess I should introduce myself.

My name is Maevryn, and I’m a fifteen year old nobody. Everyone at school hates me, which, honestly, is fair. But no one hates me more than I hate myself. I’ve always been the outcast, the reject. I'm weird. I can see things no one else can. And by “see,” I mean spirits. Entities.

Whatever they are.

I see them in the shadows, on the road, in the corners of rooms—like they're still living among us.

I'm also faster and stronger than all the boys at my school, which makes people hate me even more.

I would never consider myself the most attractive person by any means. I am as plain as it can get. And I’m grateful for it, too. I’m not one to draw any unwanted attention to myself. I have strawberry-blonde hair that sits just above my shoulder blades, I have emerald green eyes and freckles that dance across my tan complexion. I am not someone or something special.

I'm not unique. I'm just me—Maevryn. The girl everyone loves to use as a punching bag.

After my shower I quickly towel-dried my hair and threw on some sweatpants and a hoodie to hide the bruises forming from this morning's beating.

I grabbed a hair tie and my school bag and snuck out my window to go to school. I walked the 15km (9 mile) road to my school and was just in time for the first warning bell alerting us to get our asses into gear and head to class.

My first class was English, which is my favorite subject. I’m a nerd, I get pretty much A’s in every class and was a ‘teachers pet’. Not by choice though necessarily. I learned at a young age that if I didn't do well in school I'd get taught a lesson by my mother Nythera. Those lessons left scars thankfully in places that aren't completely visible.

Though my love for English is Immense. I must have dozed off and fallen asleep, as, I’m suddenly woken up by a loud SMACK on my desk and an abruption of laughter, sounded all around me.

“You may be my best student, but that doesn't mean you can slack off and fall asleep in class, come see me after.” Mr Rhyerson said as he walked back to the front of the class acting like I hadn't just disrupted his whole class.

I looked around tears threatening to come out from embarrassment, I pulled my hood over my head to try and shield myself from the glares and giggles of my classmates.

My thoughts flooded with questions I’m sure he'd ask me and for the last 20 minutes of class I racked my brain with as many answers I could think of to make sure I didn't get caught lying.

The bell rang and I waited patiently as the rest of the class left and I slowly moved to Mr Rhyersons desk.

“You wanted to speak to me?” I paused, then blurted out, “I'm so sorry for falling asleep—it won’t happen again, I promise.” My voice cracked despite my effort to keep it steady.

He looked at me with something I wasn’t used to—pity. Maybe concern?

After a long pause, he handed me a piece of paper. “Here’s my number. I’m not 100% sure what you’ve got going on, but these last few weeks especially... I can tell you’re not doing well. Your marks are still great, don’t worry. But if you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.” I slowly reached for the piece of paper with my head hung low.

I took the paper with my head down. “Thank you,” I whispered. As I hurried out of the class, I could still feel his eyes on me.

Shit, nice going idiot now the teacher knows something is up.

Walking to my locker, hood up, I didn’t see the person in front of me until I walked straight into him. Books hit the floor. I looked up—shit*.*

The school's quarterback looked down at me and shoved me.

“Watch where you’re going, freak.”

I stumbled and took off running before his friends could jump in, again.

God, I can’t wait to leave here.

The rest of the day passed in a haze, my head pounding with a migraine. At 3 o’clock, I was out the door before the bell even rang.

As I started the long walk home, the air felt muggy. The clouds were moving in faster, the world around me felt heavier. I looked up at the sky when I felt the first drops, then it started to downpour.

I shoved my school bag under my hoodie to keep my books dry. A gust of wind nipped at my neck like icy fingers.

That’s when I heard it—an engine. Roaring. Fast.

I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how it would end. A hit-and-run. No more beatings. No more pain.

But the vehicle skidded to a stop.

I felt arms—rough, strong—pull me off my feet.

Then everything went black.